


Burden to Bear

by rubydoe



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Choices, Cultural Differences, Discovery, F/M, Family, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Healing, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance, Second Chances, Sneaky Hobbies, Stubborn Dwarves, The One Ring - Freeform, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-03-06 10:16:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3130841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubydoe/pseuds/rubydoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Frodo sailed from Gray Heavens it should have been the end of his tale. However the gods are not ready to let their child rest quite yet. Instead they send him back far before his time to make different choices. Powerful choices. Ones that will change the face of Middle-earth. </p>
<p>He had never expected to have to bear the burden of the One Ring again. This time there is no ever faithful Samwise pulling him ever forward. This time there is a king of stone who might just have the strength Frodo is missing while all along the fires are waiting for them in the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know everyone loves their fix-it stories and I've had this idea rolling around my head for a while and decided to run with it. Also I thought the pairing would be very interesting and new. So let's see where this goes. =)

When Frodo comes back to himself he is at once confused by the hard rocks digging into his back and the red yellow sky overhead. There were dark clouds moving about in heavy clusters that, while dark, didn’t look to promise rain. Instead they were making what was likely a very nice sunset, if a bit on the foreboding side. The next he noticed was shouting. Shouting and the tromp of heavy boots and shifting armor. 

He’s in a pine tree forest where the ground is rocky and sharply steeped towards the valley below low in the distance. Loose needles dig at him through his clothes but he can’t bring himself to care. It’s Gandalf’s voice he hears calling out from somewhere near by. “Where is our hobbit?” 

“Gandalf?” Frodo calls as he gets himself to his feet. Frodo cannot help but frown. The movement had been easy, painless and without the soreness he had grown used to since his time with the ring. The thought draws his attention to his missing ring finger. The stump there is smooth and whole as always. It’s a constant reminder of what he had done. His shoulder twinged, as it does from time to time, reminding him that it too was still there. Another reminder.

He’s dressed lightly and the wind is cold. His trousers, a deep brown, were rolled up his calves. His soft linen button down shirt a pale cream with shortened sleeves. He had been enjoying the warm breeze and the sun before. Briefly he wished for his green cloak.

There was a new voice, deep and big like a mountain itself. Yet it’s the name that has Frodo jerking his head back in its direction. “-Master Baggin’s saw his chance and he took it.”

Baggins? Frodo is already moving and it takes only a moment, just down some ways and out of sight around a few denser trees and some rocks, but Frodo comes upon the group of armed dwarves standing around a single, taller, grey clad figure that he would have known anywhere. None notice him. They seem to be sharing heavy looks amongst themselves and when Frodo moves to speak they all turn as one away from him towards a soft, yet oddly familiar, voice that had Gandalf laughing lightly with a chuckled “Bilbo Baggins.”

“Uncle?” 

It might have been funny seeing all thirteen dwarves and a wizard jump in surprise at the sound of his voice had they not all turned brandishing weapons at the same time. The hobbit they revealed was not the hobbit Frodo knew, but a younger, less wary version of the hobbit he had grown to love as a father.

“Excuse me? Do I know you?” Young Bilbo tilted his head in confusion before he frowned. “And just what are you doing here? Do you have any idea just how  _ unsafe _ it is, young man?” His hands were on his hips and Frodo couldn’t stop himself from lowering his eyes just a bit under his uncle’s scolding even if he smiles just a little at the sight of it. Some things never changed it seemed.

“Another hobbit?” Growled the largest of the dwarves in terms of sheer bulk with an axe held tightly in his fist and a bald, tattooed head and long brown beard. 

“One of yours, Gandalf?” 

The wizard huffed, pulling himself upright. “Why must you think that I have a hand in everything unexpected that comes our way? And believe me, Thorin Oakenshield, finding another hobbit so far from home on this side of the Misty Mountains was not something I had expected to find either.”

“Wait,” Frodo took a step back. The dwarves regarded him now in a mixture of curiosity and suspicion while his mind came to a surprising conclusion. “You’re Bilbo's dwarves.”

“His  _ what _ ?” Exclaimed a dwarf with three points to his hair but Frodo didn’t bother to guess his name.

He wasn’t listening. He was searching his mind desperately and hadn’t even noticed he had started to pace. It was a habit he had picked up from his uncle and one that he had never managed to shake since returning from Mordor. There was a stir amongst the group. They exchanged looked and muttered to each other in a language Frodo knew only a little of. Gimli had only taught him pieces of Khuzdul. Small things like greetings and well wishes. A few good curses as well. But Frodo’s interactions with the dwarf had been few and he had forgotten most of what he had learned in the years that followed his quest. 

His mind fixed on a name. “Thorin…” he slowed, turning towards the dwarf Gandalf had address by such a name. “King Under the Mountain.”

Thorin Oakenshield was bigger than Frodo had thought. Not that he had any set image of the dwarf in mind to begin with. He remembered little of what his uncle had actually said to describe his appearance. He had always spoken of the dwarf in terms of his traits. Brave, loyal, strong. He had said little about the dark piercing blue eyes, and wild mane of black hair streaked with shots of silver that somehow didn’t make him look old. He was a head taller than Frodo was too. With broad shoulders and large hands that flexed slowly into fists. 

The dwarf king didn’t recline his head or make any other movement to acknowledge his words. He simply stared down his nose at the younger hobbit with a look of veiled distrust and quiet anger. 

Bilbo weaved his way through the group. “Yes yes. He’s a king. That still doesn’t explain what you are doing out here. Or how we know each other. I have quite a few cousins, I’ll have you know. It’s hard even for me to keep track of who belongs where.” It seemed the others were also interested in his answer.

Not that he had time to give it.

A howl came to them on the wind. A chilled sound. It made Frodo shiver and he knew it wasn’t from a wolf. He remembered the story now. Knew the call personally.

He remembered the wargs and what would come with them.

Thorin cursed as the wizard shouted, “Run!” 

They did just that, heading down the mountainside as fast as they could. The ground was uneven, hard and littered with rocks and ledges. They were moving far too slow and all they could do was move away from the approaching sound. 

The sun was gone now. Lost to the horizon and the clouds that covered it. Frodo found his uncle’s hand clamped tightly around his own. He hadn’t even noticed until Bilbo suddenly pulled them both back against a rocky outcrop as a warg sailed passed their heads to land a ways ahead of them. The beast turned with little pause. It had been enough time, however, for Bilbo to draw Sting and before Frodo even had a chance to call out to his uncle the warg had backed the older hobbit against a tree.

Bilbo’s wide eyes looked from the warg stopped before him to meet Frodo’s. Then the warg simply dropped to the side, Sting lodged firmly and deeply in its head. 

Around them more wargs had joined the fight and the dwarves were making quick work of them. It seemed that luck might be in their favour till they found themselves locked against a cliff with no way down.

“Up into the trees,” at Gandalf’s command, they were moving again. 

Frodo found hands on him and suddenly he was being thrown upwards. He barely managed to grab a branch. As he pulled himself up he heard the rest of the orc party drawing near.

“There’s coming!” Thorin shouted. Already most of them are up off the ground and in the trees.

As trees swayed and more dwarves climbed up into the branches, Frodo catches sight of Bilbo still fighting to pull Sting from the fallen warg’s skull. “Uncle!” He’s the last one still on the ground. Everyone else is safely up within the trees and his uncle. It takes no more than a second, though it feels like ages, before the other hobbit finally manages to get the sword from the death creatures skull only to turn to stare dumbly as the orcs rode down upon him. “Uncle!”

Bilbo visibly shakes himself then he’s up the nearest tree and it’s all Frodo can do to calm his heart because there is a moving, biting, snarling wave of wargs crashing against their trees. They bark and snap at their feet, waiting for one of them to slip into eager jaws.

“Gandalf!” The wizard is in the next tree over. “Call them!” Frodo’s demand is met with a wide-eyed look but he knows the wizard has some idea even before he cries out, “the eagles!” 

More wargs are filling the area at their feet and now from their places within the trees they can see the approaching orcs. At the head of their pack rides a pale orc on a white warg.

If there was one thing Frodo would have loved to go through his life without hearing again it’s the sound black speech. He’s almost not sure what’s worse. The dark, guttural grating of it or the fact that he can understand what the orc is saying.

Even so one didn’t need to understand the words to know the pale orc was baiting them. He smiles with a lipless mouth and sharp pointed teeth and speaks another dwarf’s name that has Thorin stiffening with disbelief and outrage. It’s a reaction the orc does not miss either and his eyes grow even before he points towards the king-in-exile. “ **_That one is mine. Kill the others._ ** ”

It’s like everything suddenly slots into place for Frodo. He remembers now. He looks down with a sense of detachment as the wargs jump against their trees. The soil is loose and dry. The trees will start to bend outwards towards the cliff- And they’ll have to jump. They’ll move through the trees like squirrels till they are all piled in the last. 

Now they’re trapped and the pale orc is laughing. 

A flaming pinecone whistles passed Frodo’s ear. Soon they are raining down on the orcs. The ground is burning and the pale orc is no longer laughing. He’s pulled back a bit higher up the hill away from the fires, yet he knows they are still trapped and is willing to wait them out.

But the soil is loose and there are too many of them for the final tree to support. It slowly started to tilt before crashing over the edge with all still within its branches.

They don’t fall. The roots hold, the tree is old and they run deep, and although some slip, forced to hang off each other or fall to their deaths, none of the Company is lost. 

The pale one is laughing again.

Frodo clung opposite his uncle, their large feet kicking uselessly at the air. Their eyes meet. Bilbo’s are wide and frightened. Frodo finds himself feeling strangely calm even before Thorin’s boot comes down between them and both their eyes are turning up.

Thorin stands with his sword in one hand, his oakenshield in the other. His eyes are fixed on the pale orc and Frodo feels a chill up his back. 

When his uncle would tell this part of the story it tended to turn into several minutes of berating the exiled king for his reckless action which could have gotten him killed and then their whole quest would have just been buggered. 

Still there is a sense of awe watching Thorin’s cloak billow out behind him as he begins to charge down the tree through the growing fires towards death upon a white warg. Also an unneeded amount of recklessness. Had he simply waited a few more moments there would have been no need for his unnecessarily heroic last stand.

Still, Frodo finds himself holding his breath.

Azog, Frodo’s mind supplies, is grinning with mad glee. His warg has slid down into a crouch while the orc atop its back has his arms open, heavy mace in his good remaining hand. Frodo hadn’t noticed before then, the detail had slipped his mind. He notes it now, sees the raw iron hook from the healed stump of the orc’s missing left arm.

Frodo is already trying to work himself up when the white warg launches itself forward and barrels into Thorin knocking him flat onto his back. The beast now stands between the party and its king. Was this how it happened last time as well? Frodo has to wonder. 

Thorin is barely on his feet when Azog’s mace swung about to stuck him in the face. The dwarves cried out as the orcs rejoiced. Frodo is on his feet and is reaching for his uncle’s hand to pull him up. He ignores Bilbo’s questioning eyes but then Thorin cries out in pain and pair is turning back.

The white warg has their king in its jaws. Even from their distance they can hear the crunch as Thorin screams louder. The dwarves are shouting, near panic but none can find their footing enough to climb up and help. Azog turned his mount around again with a grin as his warg continued to hold tightly onto its prize. In a desperate move to free himself, Thorin manages a strike to the beast’s nose with his sword. It works. The white warg tosses him aside with a wild yelp. 

Thorin lands upon a small cropping of rocks and doesn’t rise.

“ **_Bring me the dwarf’s head,_ ** ” the pale one orders with twisted glee. His battle has been won and now he will take his prize before he finishes the rest of them. Another orc, his face mashed and bubbled, slides down from his warg with a grin. He unsheathed his sword and stepped purposefully towards the king to rest steel upon his neck.

Frodo has already begun to move. Bilbo is only a few steps behind him with Sting drawn. Thorin moves, struggles to reach his sword. The orc standing over him laughs, pulling back as he raises his blade. The hobbits spilt at the last second. His uncle jumped to throw his weight against orc and they go crashing to the ground. Frodo has leaped over the king’s prone body and is going for his much large sword. 

Bilbo lets out a shout as he’s tossed to the side and the orc is suddenly on top of him. Frodo doesn’t get to worry for long, his uncle stabs the thing once in the shoulder and another time in the gut before he back peddles to stand shoulder to shoulder with Frodo standing protectively before the fallen dwarven king. Bilbo’s attacker lays motionless and it oddly makes Frodo feel proud in a way he’s not sure he understands but seeing his uncle’s courage helps him to keep his own. The younger hobbit stands firmly with the elven blade clasp in both hands, using all his strength to keep it lifted and the tip from wavering. 

He can hear Bilbo’s quick breathing but he doesn’t move his eyes from the orcs. They gather together, Azog at their lead. When they step to advance, the tiny pair of hobbits do the same. They will protect the king. Bilbo swings with Sting, cutting the air in his attempt to drive them back.

From there it’s chaos. 

The dwarves rush forward with powerful battle cries and weapons held high. They have finally managed to free themselves from the tree and are driving against the warg and orcs in a battle rage they aren’t quite prepared for. A warg and its rider pull up to the hobbit pair, its eyes fixed on the prize they are guarding. Frodo’s swing of the heavy sword catches the beast across the muzzle as his uncle drives Sting into a space between its ribs. The warg reared back the same time its rider leaned forward and the hobbits are forced to duck low to miss the blade. But they will not give up without a fight and strike out again.

It’s his uncle’s shout that draws Frodo’s eyes upwards. The eagles have come and relief sings through him.

“No, no, no-no!” Bilbo frantically chanted but before he has a chance to ask Frodo finds himself airborne and nearly bites his tongue to keep himself from screaming. Bilbo, clasped in the eagle's other talon has no such issue and does so loudly as they as dropped onto the back of another. 

The young hobbit puts an arm around the other, holding onto a fistful of feathers and tries to keep himself as relaxed as possible as the air whips past their face. It’s cold, the wind cutting through his clothes like he has nothing on and the pair shiver together, huddling close. There is little sense of time as they fly through the darkness and they might have slept because the sun is starting to lighten the sky. One of the dwarves is calling out to Thorin now. Frodo turns enough to make out the king’s limp form ahead of them clasped in the talons of another eagle. A few others are calling out to each other seeking reassurance, as the others remain silent. 

It’s early morning by the time the eagles have reached Carrock and take turns to carefully deposit their burdens at its peak. The small mountain is a flat tooth jutting upwards from a forest of green, but it fits their purpose well enough. There is more than enough room for each eagle to land and for the party to rest in safety. 

Thorin is placed upon the rock first before Gandalf is dropped from the neck of his to rush towards the king’s side. Bilbo and Frodo are happy to have their feet on solid ground again but even that is overshadowed by their own anxiety. The others begin to gather around their fallen king, eyes lowered and pleading. They do not want this to be the end. Some have dropped to their knees to offer prayers. Another has his hat clasped tightly in his hands as he leans against a round dwarf with a red beard. Bilbo turned away. At the sight of his uncle’s crestfallen expression, Frodo is reaching for him even before the weak words reach their sensitive ears.

“The halflings?” 

“It’s alright,” Gandalf assured. “They are here, and quite safe.”

Relief sweeps across the group. A few even manage to smile as Thorin looks about himself. Bilbo and Frodo watch slightly apart from the dwarves as they help the king to his feet. The dwarves are taking turns to touch him, as if they need the physical reassurance that he is truly alive. Thorin is holding his ribs and Frodo thinks his nose might be broken from the mace but it’s hard to tell, there is still too much blood smeared across his face. 

But Thorin’s eyes are clear as he leans on his companions to approach. His uncle shifts nervously at his side. Frodo finds himself meeting the king’s deep eyes easily even as he shrugs off the other dwarves support and scowls. 

“Here.” Frodo holds out the elven blade across both palms. Thorin’s eyes look startled and just a little bit surprised as they jump up to meet his face. “I think you might like this back.” Frodo just manages a small smile before his vision blacks out and he is falling.   
  



	2. Chapter 2

When he opens his eyes next Frodo he relieved to see his old friend. “Gandalf,” he smiles. 

“How do you feel?” The wizard removes his hand from the hobbit’s head. There is a concerned pinch in the corners of his eyes even as he gently returns the smile with a smaller one of his own.

“I had the strangest dream.” Frodo rubs a hand over his face. The familiar feeling of the missing digit helps to ground his thoughts. It had been sometime since he had dreamed of anything else besides his own dark nightmares. Though the dream hadn’t exactly been pleasant, it had still been a far cry better than most.

“A dream, you say?” Gandalf prompted.

Frodo carefully pushed himself up. “Yes, from one of uncle’s-” He stops. 

He’s sitting upon a fur cloak beneath the shade of a towering oak. Gandalf the  _ grey _ , not the  _ white  _ as he has been for some years now, was kneeling down by his feet while the younger version of his uncle sat patiently in the grass to his left. Beyond them he could see the others. Someone had made a fire and there was a large rotund dwarf sitting over it stirring something in a battered pot. The others were sitting about in small groups. 

He feels a weight on him and gazes to his right. Thorin Oakenshield is laying back into the laps of two younger dwarves. The pair, one light and the other dark, are runnings fingers through the king’s hair. Frodo wasn’t quite sure, but he thought they might be braiding it.

Despite his relaxed appearance, Thorin’s eyes were hard stone chips which regard him in a manner Frodo does not quite understand. 

Everyone seems to be waiting on him. Even those who aren’t directly watching still appear to be listening. With a breath Frodo holds his hand out before his face and moves his fingers. He stares at the empty space between his thumb and middle finger and lets himself relax a bit to gather his confusing thoughts. That’s when he feels it.

The ring. 

He’s not sure if he wants to be sick or shout out in joy at it’s call. He had missed it. Oh how he missed it. Like a drug he had missed having it, holding it and the weight of it and that feeling had pulled on him for years making him feel thin and worn. Till finally he had been set to sail away with the elves and it would have all been over. Should have been over.

He can feel his tears. “Gandalf,” he begins. “This can’t be real,” he pleads, his voice watery.

The wizard gets to his feet with a huff. “I haven’t the foggiest what you mean.”

The lack of understanding hurts like a cut. “But we- It’s over!” He finds himself shouting as he gets to his feet. “We destroyed it, Gandalf,” he tries again. Gandalf always knew everything. Always understood. But this Gandalf wasn’t, didn’t. Frodo didn’t know what to do.

“Have we now?” This wrong Gandalf says in place of patient understanding.

Frodo wasn’t sure what to say. His thoughts are all a mess. Instead he pushed his dark curls back from his face. This still can’t be real. Can it? But the whispers ghosting across his mind tell him its real. They beckon to him and touch his mind. He shivers. 

Bilbo is still sitting in the grass and blinks up at him with large blue eyes the same colour as his own when he holds out his hand, “Give it here, uncle.”

The older hobbit crosses his arms with a huff. “I don’t know why you keep calling me that. I don’t even know your name.”

Seeing his uncle’s puffy nature within his younger body nearly makes him grin. Instead he finds himself nodding. “I guess you wouldn’t. Not for a while yet anyways.” His uncle just looks at him confusedly. “Frodo Baggins.”

“Baggins?” He’s not sure which of the two younger dwarves said it but he can feel everyone’s curious stares.

Bilbo is shaking his head. “Nope. Doesn’t ring a bell. Who are your parents again?”

“Drogo Baggins and Primula Brandybuck but-”

“Now see here!” Bilbo got himself to his feet. “I happen to know Drogo Baggins and Primula Brandybuck quite well. So you cannot pull the wool over me, young man. They are half your age yet.” There is a murmur amongst the dwarves and he notices one pick up an axe. It’s the big dwarf with the tattoos. There is a firm command in dwarvish from Thorin however, and the warrior lowers his weapon back down to his side.

“I fear our friends take poorly to being in the presence of one they might think false,” Gandalf warned. “Especially one that they owe the life of their king to.”

It’s getting hard to think again. The whispers are nibbling at the edges of his mind. He knows it will be better once he had it back. He ignored the others and turned back to his uncle. “Give me the ring.”

Bilbo starts. “I- Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Even so the hobbit takes a small step back.

Frodo follows after, his hand still extended. “The ring you got from Gollum. Give it here.”

“H-h-how do you know that?” He’s taken another step back but his fingers have moved towards his vest pocket and Frodo sees the glint of gold before he’s holding up the ring.

“There are few rings of power in this world, Master Baggins,” Gandalf’s expression has turned dark and wary. “None of which should be taken lightly.”

Frodo does his best not to snatch the item from his uncle’s offering hand. But he cannot stop the sigh of relief that follows holding it again. He cradles it in his hands, eyes closed and just breathing. “I need a chain.” 

“A chain?” The golden youngster asks. Thorin is now sitting stiffly with his hand not far from his weapon laying out on the grass next to him. The darker of the young pair standing over him. 

“Something strong. Something that won’t break.”

A white haired dwarf with a forked beard moved around Gandalf to stand next to his king. “Unbreakable? You’d be wanting mithril then.”

Frodo is shaking his head, “No I need-” He reached a hand to touch his breastbone when he feels it. “I forgot.” How had he forgotten? He never took it off. Even after all these years he hadn’t stopped wearing it. He opens the top buttons on his shirt and removed the elven chain from about his neck. 

“What is this?” Gandalf moves closer as Frodo places the ring onto the enchanted chain before putting it back around his neck. He cannot help but sigh at the feel of its weight. It makes him sick. It makes him happy. But regardless, the whispers die away and his mind clears. 

When he opens his eyes he’s surprised to find that everyone has backed away. Even Thorin had been moved back to stand behind the larger warrior and the young pair. For a moment he ignores them as he buttons his shirt. “It’s my burden to bare, Gandalf.”

“And what burden is that?”

He wants to just answer him. To tell him what the ring really is but its something that can wait. At least a little longer. So he sits down on the borrowed cloak and thinks back on his uncle’s stories. It had been a while since he had read the book, but his uncle was always going on about one thing or another. 

“You’re passed the trolls, and Rivendell - So you’ve read the runes - “ There was a sudden outcry which Gandalf quickly hushed. “and Goblin town… This is Carrock,” he pointed up at the massive peak they now sat at the base of. Someone must have carried him down. “Which would mean you’re off to Beorn’s next.”

The dwarves are all arguing angrily in Khuzdul while Bilbo and the wizard stand apart. His uncle is blinking wide confused eyes at him, “How do you know all that?” 

“How indeed?” The wizard stepped forward and everyone else fell silent. “Either you’ve been following us since the Shire, in which case I might have picked the wrong burglar, or there is something entirely different going on here.”

Frodo is only listening in part. He pushed himself back to his feet, one hand around the ring. “Gandalf, none of this makes any sense.” 

“Ah! Don’t look at me, boy. You’re speaking in as many riddles as I do. And I’m a wizard!” He chuckled at his own joke as several of the dwarves including Thorin glared.

“No, you don’t get it. This can’t be real!” Frodo threw open his arms. “This- All of it. These are just Bilbo’s stories.” Now he was pointing towards the other hobbit who opened his mouth to speak but Frodo moved on. “The dwarves, the dragon- All of it! Gandalf it was suppose to be over. Leaving Grey Havens,” his shoulders sank as his energy leaves him. The hobbit suddenly looks so very tired and gazes at them with shining blue eyes which were far too old for his young face. “It was suppose to be the end.” His eyes dropped.

Gandalf’s brows were pinched as he took a step nearer. “Now, why would a hobbit be sailing to Valinor?”

“Went with you,” Frodo sniffled. “It was uncle’s last adventure.” The tears were falling now and he rubs at them with the back of his arm. “Lord Elrond and Galadriel… it was finally going to be over.” He rubbed his shoulder even as he fought to stop his frustrated tears. 

“Hobbits in the Undying Lands?” Gandalf’s voice was mystified. “I have always found hobbits to be a great wonder, but for the gods to allow them across the sea. With myself?” He hummed at this. “You speak of things as if they’ve already passed. Yet you are here.”

Bilbo crossed his arms as his large furred foot tapped impatiently against the grass. “So what are you saying?” Bilbo gestured towards Frodo while he turned to face the wizard. “That he’s my unborn nephew from the future- And why would I want to go on another adventure?! This one is turning out to be plenty enough. Thank you very much.” He huffed.

It made Frodo laugh despite himself.

Thorin pushed passed his kin. “So that’s it then. You believe this hobbit to have been sent back?”

“Maybe he’s our guide!” This from a young lighter haired dwarf with a round face, straight cut bangs and a knitted scarf. 

“A guide, you say?” The wizard looked thoughtful as he looked the young hobbit over.

“If that’s true,” Thorin strode forward. His motions were stiff and he could see the dwarf was trying not to let on how greatly his side was paining him. It didn’t stop him from looming over the smaller halfling. Not that it fazed Frodo. He had faced far greater things than Thorin Oakenshield’s hardened stare. “Then you must know of what awaits us.”

Frodo regarded him carefully. “I do,” he answered slowly.

The larger warrior stepped forward. “How are we to trust him? He could be lying.” There was a rumble of agreement from the others.

“I trust him.” Everyone turned towards Bilbo. The other hobbit shifted uneasy under their stare. “How else did he know about the ring and Gollum. That just happened and I doubt he followed me through the caves. I was lucky the fall hadn’t killed  _ me _ , let alone anyone else following.”

Thorin slowly returned his gaze back to Frodo. “Tell us something then. Something in which you should have no way of knowing.” 

“Ah…” Frodo licked his lips. “Something personal maybe? Let me think… It would be easier if I knew who was who.”

“Some manners we have,” the wizard nodded. “We asked your name but did not share our own in return. Not that all of us are strangers to you, it would seem. Now, where to start… You already know the leader of this Company, Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain and king in exile. His nephews, the princes here are Fili and Kili. Then there is Balin, his brother Dwalin. Bifur, Bombur, Bofur are here and Dori, Nori and the youngest there is Ori. Last would be Oin and Gloin.” 

“Gloin?” Frodo blinked at the familiar name. “You’re Gimli’s father.”

The dwarf in question looked pleasantly started and even puffed up just a bit. His beard was long, a rusty brown just like it son’s. “I am.”

Frodo peered at him closely. “The first time we met your hair was as white as your brother’s.” The pair shared a look and Frodo gave them a tight smile. “Gimli is a good friend and a great warrior. You should be proud.”

“Tell us something else, halfling,” Thorin cut in, giving Gloin and Oin a sharp look before turning back to him. “Knowing the names of our kin doesn’t prove anything.” 

“No,” he replied slowly. “I guess it wouldn’t.” Honestly Frodo wasn’t sure what else to tell him. Bilbo had never talked much about the king beyond his deeds during the quest. Whenever he told the tale as a lad Bilbo had always ended with Smaug’s demise in Laketown. Frodo hadn’t even been unaware of the subsequence battle that had followed or the true fate of the dwarf king before him till his uncle had finally finished his book and allowed him to read it. To say it had been a bit of a shock was an understatement.

“I say we trust him,” this came from the hatted dwarf Bofur who cast Frodo a reassuring grin. “I mean, he knew that Bilbo found that ring before any of us knew. Even if he hadn’t known about wee Gilmi, I think that’s enough.” 

Thorin raised a brow when Balin nodded as well. “Come now, Thorin. He was asleep when we discussed heading towards the skinchanger’s home. Not to mention he was no where near us at the time.”

“Then,” Fili, the golden-haired prince stepped forward. “He knows if Smaug is still alive.”

“Or how to defeat him!” added Kili. 

Frodo frowned under the entire company's weighted eyes. He looked imploringly to Gandalf. 

The wizard straightened. “So you do know. But you do not wish to tell us.”

“Why not?” Someone cried.

“Do we not make it?” This from young Ori and everyone’s mood suddenly lowered. 

Thorin rounded on the wizard, wincing when the movement pulled at his side. “I don’t like this, Gandalf. I won’t trust the fate of my Company on the word of some halfling.” Bilbo, at the wizard’s side, flinched at his words looking hurt even if the king had been talking about Frodo. 

“Now, Thorin. There must be a very good reason for Frodo’s silence on the matter.”

“I do not trust this,” he hissed before moving off. Oin, Dwalin and the princes followed in his wake.

Gandalf removed his pipe from his robes and lit swiftly before taking a long, drawn puff. “You’ll have to forgive Thorin. He is not very trusting to those he does not know.”

“Or are not like himself,” added Bilbo. “If you’ll excuse me.” He headed off into the trees opposite of the king. A second later Bofur jogged passed with a quick call to wait. 

“Come now, young Master Baggins. I’m sure you’re hungry. Bombur here has been working on a very lovely stew by the fire. Why don’t we sit down. I’d very much like to hear more about that ring of yours.”


	3. Chapter 3

 

The request made Frodo hesitate. It shouldn’t have really, because if there was anyone on Middle-earth he could trust with this it would be Gandalf. However there was something about talking about it which would make it all suddenly more  _ real  _ and right now Frodo was still holding onto that odd feeling that this was all really just some dream.

It wasn’t. He didn’t think so. Even if he wanted it to be.

He rubbed at his shoulder as he sat down. “I think it’s best to wait. At least till we aren’t somewhere so…” Frodo looked around. “Where we are less likely to be overhead.”

The wizard hummed around his pipe. “Is such secrecy necessary?” 

“Yes. At least from some.”

“Not the dwarves, though?”

“No,” Frodo shook his head quickly. “They can know, should they wish to. But there are others… For now I need to keep it safe.” 

Gandalf’s long look nearly had Frodo fidgeting but he kept himself still, doing his best to hold his eyes. The wizard turned his head then and blew a smoke ring with a thoughtful noise. 

“So what can you tell us?” It was the silver haired dwarf with complex braids that settled down on the other side of the fire from Frodo. His younger brother, the one called Ori, settled in next to him with a charcoal pencil and an open book sitting on his lap. 

“I… I don’t see why I couldn’t tell you everything,” he answered honestly. “Just…” He took a breath and was thankful when his growing audience, Gloin and Bifur had settled down in the grass near by as well, patiently waited for him to organize his thoughts. “Would you really like knowing how you’re going to die?” 

“So we’re all going to die then? We don’t make it.” Ori’s shoulders dropped, as did a few of the others. 

Frodo was at a loss. He wanted to tell them, but he didn’t at the same time. It was confusing. He knew that by them knowing things they might change. But he had no idea how much he should tell and was acutely aware of how his knowledge of the events to come could change everything, for better or worse. It was a fine line and he wasn’t sure what to do with it yet.

“Answer them honestly, Frodo. Uncertainty can be a heavy weight to bare,” Gandalf bowed his head. By this time the other’s had returned. Even Bilbo. The older hobbit was sitting under the tree Frodo had been under with Bofur sharing a pipe. He noticed that the cloak he had been resting on now sat neatly folded to the side. 

Thorin allowed his nephews to help him sit with his back to the fire. It gave him the appearance that he wasn’t listening though he clearly would be. Dwalin stood at his side, massive arms crossed. 

“You take back the mountain.” Their mood greatly lighted as the dwarves shared smiles and excited murmurs. Frodo almost felt like he was telling a story to a bunch of eager faunts. 

“And the Arkenstone?” Balin asked. 

“You find it.” More cheer. “Though really uncle is the one who finds it.” 

Bofur laughed. “A true burglar after all,” he said before he dropped an arm across the hobbit’s shoulders and pulling him in for a half hug. 

“The cost?” Thorin’s voice cuts the elation from the air like a physical thing. Their smiles drop away even if they still turn hopeful eyes his way. Thorin turned his head, his face still hidden from Frodo by a spill of his long hair. “I would know the cost for our great, supposed victory.” 

He takes a breath before answering. They have a right to know and they were asking. There was always the chance that simply knowing would change their fate. “The end of the line of Durin.”

All eyes turned to the trio. Thorin’s back is stiff and straight. He’s back to looking forward. Fili and Kili have gone pale, their hands are locked together so tightly their knuckles have gone white. “We…” Kili doesn’t seem to be able to get the words out. 

Frodo drew his knees up. “Uncle never spoke of what happened after Smaug was killed. I never understood why till he left me his journal. ‘There and Back Again,’ he called it. During the Battle of Five Armies, the orcs-”

“Enough!” Thorin roared up. “I will hear no more of this. We are well enough rested, we move out.” 

Bombur pouted and was about to say something about their missed meal but the thunderous look on their king’s face as he marches passed was enough to still his protects. They packed up what little camp they had set up and headed out.

Gandalf patted Frodo on the shoulder, though didn’t meet his eyes.

Frodo finds himself at a bit of a loss at the end of the line of Thorin’s Company. The others are quiet and cast him odd looks from time to time as they speak amongst themselves. It’s Bilbo who eventually pulls back to walk beside him.

“Look,” he starts. “You have to understand this is all very difficult to them. Us, I mean. Here you are, claiming you’re from the future or something and know things. It’s just hard to get your head around, you know?”

Frodo cannot help his small slanted smile. “As hard to believe any of us Baggins doing anything improper like going on adventures. With dwarves and wizards, I might add.”

His uncle pulls a face. “Yes well…” They fall silent for a time. “Do they really… you know?” He nods towards the Durins heading up the front of the line. They are staying close to each other and the princes are still holding hands. When Frodo nods he asks how. 

“The orcs attack Erebor shortly after Smaug is killed. Azog, the pale orc that attacked up on in the mountains, goes after Thorin during the fight. The princes fall trying to defend their uncle. If I remember right Dain Ironfoot managed to kill Azog soon after and they win the battle.” 

“Dain, you say?” It seemed his answer had caught the ears of a few of the others walking near the back of the line. Nori, with his star-shaped hair pulls back a little to walk on Frodo’s other side. “Am I right to assume he becomes King Under the Mountain then?” Frodo nods.

An argument breaks out at the front of the line. Fili and Kili are shouting at each other and their uncle. Frodo has no idea what they are saying but when an arm is swept in his direction he guesses that it likely has to do with what he had told them. 

Thorin snapped out a, “Baggins!” Which had both Bilbo and Frodo give a startled “Yes?”. The king simply sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as the princes break out to snickers, their ire forgotten for a moment. “Not you, burglar.”

Frodo and Bilbo share a look before Frodo moves towards the front of the line. “You know I have a name right? You’re welcome to use it.” He has little trouble meeting his hard stare even as the dwarf’s frown grows into more of a scowl for it.

“Hmm,” Fili gives his brother’s a sidelong look before moving his gaze to his uncle. “You can always call them Baggins One and Baggins Two.” 

Kili grinned. “Or maybe give Frodo a title too?” He frowned. “Though I have no idea what it would be.” He leaned closer to the younger hobbit's face, eyes squinting like the might find the title he was looking for written in his pours.  

Frodo placed a hand on the young prince’s chest and gave him a small push back out of his personal space. “I have a title, thank you. Though I would prefer you not to use it.” 

Gandalf, who had been standing some distance ahead turned in interest. “Oh, and what title is that, my boy?”

“Ring-bearer,” he answered brushing passed the Durins in favor of continuing down the path towards the Beorn’s. “Now come on. The sooner we reach Beorn, the better. You can ask all the questions you want then.” He misses the wizard’s startled took and widened eyes. The others, however, do not. There is fear in Gandalf's face and anything which would cause such a look does not bode well. The dwarves look to the small hobbit now further up the path with new respect and increasing worry. 

Frodo for his part is simply tried. He’s happy then that this ring has not awoken yet. It’s warm and still stirs at the edges of his mind but it’s more in a comfortable kind of way. It was a feeling he had grown so used to during his time carrying it and one he had missed once it was gone. 

He’s not sure when they entered the rolling meadow of blossom and bumbling honeybees. All he knows is that when he looks about him next its all he sees. Frodo stopped on the path, digging his toes into the rich, sun-warmed earth. He can feel the life of this place all around him and takes in a lung full of the sweet air. A bee hovers passed the size of his closed fist. He smiles. 

He cannot help his look back to his uncle. He knows the other hobbit can feel it as well for they share a love for all things that grow and  _ live _ . Gandalf chuckles, forgetting his dark thoughts and worries in favour of taking in the smaller beings’ joy. 

The dwarves, for their part, have no idea what the fuss is about. Gloin sneezes something fierce and the young scribe yelps when he gets stung after taking a swing at one of the bees. The princes had bracketed themselves around their burglar as he runs a hand over the petals of a flower. Thorin finds his eyes on his closer hobbit. 

His sister-sons had wanted him to ask more about their quest, arguing that every little advantage could be used in their favor and didn’t want to risk a moment not knowing because if something were to happened to the hobbit before they reached the skinchanger’s house than they would never know and they didn’t want all of this to be for nothing. 

Thorin knew it was because they were frightened to die. 

It was an end for himself that Thorin had long come to terms with. He thought little of ruling the mountain himself and more of readying his boys to take their places. The knowledge that, according to the halfling, he was not only to die, but his sister-sons as well… He’d be lying to himself if the thought of turning back hadn’t crossed his mind. Stones, he’d leave his sons with the bleeding elves if it would keep them safe but more importantly alive. 

Thorin would have been blind not to notice the old soul within the smaller beings body. There was a tried weight to the way he moved which marked the area around his eyes and caused his movements to become more weighted than they should be for someone his age. Looking at him now, crouched amongst the flowers, smiling openingly at the bees, Thorin was shocked at just how young the hobbit actually was. 

He does not miss the fatigue that still rests below Frodo’s eyes. Thorin knows he should have allowed them longer to rest and a meal at least before pushing them forward. Even he cannot still the trembling in his arms or the flashes of pain along his ribs and knows he needs to rest as well. But he couldn’t halt the unease fluttering in his breast and the desire to get his kin someplace safe. If that place was to be at the mercy of a skinchanger, than so be it. 

They aren’t long passed the fields when the wizard is calling for the halflings to come with him and instructing the others to wait. Seems their host isn’t overly fond of dwarves and will welcome them better into his home if they don’t overwhelm him with their numbers. So they are to enter the home in pairs, with some time between each set’s arrival. Gandalf then left them hidden behind a very tall hedge as he took the hobbits and went to greet their host. 

For all that Thorin expected when he opened the too large door, it was not to find the hobbits atop of bear of a man. Beorn towered over Gandalf and he is simply seated. Frodo is contently seated in the shifter’s large lap eating a sticky sweet honeycomb. Poor Bilbo was seated up on the shifter’s massive shoulders, clinging onto Beorn’s mane like hair in an attempt not to fall from his too high perch all the while looking like a ruffled cat. 

The imploring look their burglar sends him had even Thorin smirking with amusement as he and Balin took a seat at the end of the bench as the wizard continued tell the story of their flight through the mountains. During the tale Beorn continues to feed little bits of honey to Frodo in his lap, much to the hobbit’s joy. When he offers a bit to Bilbo, calling the hobbit a ‘little bunny’ the hobbit simply sputters and turns up his nose at the offering. Beorn just grinned and gave the extra piece to Frodo. 

All the dwarves had entered by this point and Frodo laughed as he pushed Beorn’s big paw away. “Enough! I fear if there is a way to die from too many sweets I’m about to find it.” And while Gandalf, Beorn and even Bilbo smiles at this, the dwarves glare darkly. 

“You are right, baby bunny. Maybe some real food is called for.” At some hidden cue there are suddenly sheep and dogs coming out of the back room with serving dishes and platters. He reached up and plucked Bilbo from his shoulder, dropping him to the open place beside Oin as he stood, giving Frodo his place at the head of the table. “I have enjoyed your tale, wizard, and I will take my leave for now. You are welcome here for as long as you need to heal your wounds and to fatten for the journey ahead.” The last he said pointedly to the two hobbits. “All I ask is that you do not leave my lands after dark and to keep inside if you can.” 

The Company digs into their meal with as much grace as their kind does. They haven’t had such a feast since the burglar’s house some months back and none are willing to let it go to waste. Even Bilbo is filling his plate after his initial hesitation. 

Frodo, Thorin notices, doesn’t eat. Instead his eyes are unfocused and lowered, his left hand wrapped around the ring about his neck through his shirt. Thorin is startled to note the younger halfling is missing a finger on that hand and thinks back to Azog and how Frodo had stood over him against the orcs with Orcrist held tightly in both hands. 

He couldn’t help but think back to Gandalf's words and agree that hobbits did appear to be full of surprises. 

When the meal is finished and everyone is looking more than ready for bed, Gandalf lit his pipe and turned his old eyes to the young hobbit. “Ring-bearer, is it?” And if Frodo’s eyes don’t go a bit wider at the name and a deep pain flashing within those emerald orbs. 

“Yes. For I bare the One Ring.” 


	4. Chapter 4

 

_ “Ring-bearer, is it?” And if Frodo’s eyes don’t go a bit wider at the name and a deep pain flashes within those emerald orbs.  _

_ “Yes. For I bare the One Ring.”  _

There is no need to ask which ring the hobbit speaks of. There isn’t a soul in Middle-Earth who doesn’t know the tale of the Dark Lord Sauron. Yet to believe the simple golden band Bilbo had picked up in the mountains was  _ the _ ring...

“Are you sure?” Gandalf asks his face pinched and lit pipe forgotten. The look the hobbit gives him at the question would have had them laughing had it not been for the circumstance. 

“Considering I’ve already destroyed it once, I am sure.” 

“You…” The wizard looks beyond lost at the implications of that thought. “It can only-”

“Be destroyed in the fires of Mount Doom. You do not need to tell me, Gandalf. I bore it’s burden already once before. There was no other way to defeat Sauron and only a hobbit is able to resist its power.” For a time, Frodo added to himself. By the time he had reached the mountain, his spirit weakened as much as his body, he hadn’t been able to resist the rings calls. He had placed the ring on his hand like the others before him wanting to keep the power there for himself. Had it not been for Smeagol, the Dark Lord might have taken Middle-Earth for himself. 

No one seems to know quite what to say. They had questions, but aren’t so sure of the answers. Their heads had been so full of nothing but Smaug and thoughts of  _ home  _ and now suddenly everything seemed so much  _ bigger _ . 

Frodo started at the beginning with his uncle running out the door, their encounter with the three trolls, Rivendell and the Misty Mountains. He recounted a different version of their first fight against the Pale Orc which still had Thorin recklessly challenging the creature only to have a hobbit defend him. He skipped over their stay with the skinchanger, for it had just been a time of rest and recounted their trip through Mirkwood and the weeks spent locked within the elven cells.

It was only Thorin’s hardened looks which kept his dwarves from interrupting the tale with their obvious outrage. Not that they couldn’t have expected much less from an elf. 

Their time in Laketown and Bibo’s illness had a few casting worried looks. Ori in his seat was scribbling so quickly within his book that Thorin feared he’d run out of charcoal before the end. The scribe would be up all night rewriting the tale in longer lasting ink, he would bet, as his eyes turned back to Frodo. 

The tale continued, how they discovered the hidden door and awoken Smaug. How the dragon had burned Laketown only to be felled by Bard Bowmen, a descendant of the Kings of Dale. The dwarves were keenly disappointed to know that they hadn’t been the ones to kill the beast, yet Thorin could see their relief there as well. So far, according to the tale, none of his company had perished. 

“What is it?” Bilbo asked softly when Frodo suddenly became hesitant. 

He licked his lips. He’d been talking for quite some time, this throat becoming dry. “As I mentioned before, you always stopped the story there with a ‘happily ever after’. Meeting you all now I understand why. Just- Uncle, I…” Frodo rubbed a hand over his face and Bofur set a mug down at the hobbit’s elbow. He gave the dwarf a thankful smile and took a long slip and a deep breath. “By the time Smaug fell,” Frodo’s eyes flicked over to Thorin sitting at the far end of the table and the king felt a cold hand close around his heart. Even as the hobbit dropped his gaze, Thorin could not lower his own. “The gold sickness had already taken hold.” 

Thorin tried to take it all in. Tried to listen around the heartbeat drumming in his ears as Frodo described the Company’s plight under his gold addled mind. How they had sealed the gates at his orders and refused to aid the homeless people of Laketown as cruelly as the elves had done to his kin. How their food had started to run low and was gone altogether. How he denied them rest as he ordered them to keep searching for the Arkenstone even after young Ori had collapsed. 

Bilbo's subsequent betrayal was nearly expected and not at all surprising to Thorin. That he had withheld the stone since they had entered the mountain had been. However Thorin had noticed the hobbit’s tendency to place others before himself. That the hobbit would go to such lengths to protect the Company from their own king, even when he knew what it might cost him, warmed his heart. 

There were hands on his shoulders. Fili and Kili were pressing against his right. Dwalin on his left. These dwarves, the only ones who had answered his call and had  _ believed _ . That they would continue to be so loyal even after all that. 

Thorin hadn’t even been aware that Frodo had stopped talking. The knowledge that he would fall like his grandfather had and to know that his line was truly cursed… it was nearly too much all at once. 

Gandalf carefully rose from his seat. “I think that might be enough for now, my dear Frodo. Let us continue in the morning after we have all had some rest.”

That night Thorin slept with his sister-sons in his arms as he had often done when they were babes. Frodo stood silently at their feet looking upon their sleeping faces with a thoughtful look. 

“Frodo?” Like the hobbit, it seemed the wizard couldn’t sleep either and was smoking near the hearth. Frodo had hoped that this new body would allow him the luxury of a restful slumber but it seemed that wouldn’t be the case.

He padded over to the wizard on his silent, bare feet. “They aren’t what I expected.”

“Oh?”

Frodo sat on an empty stool. “They are very affectionate,” he commented. He had also noticed the other family units of snuggling dwarves amongst their straw beds. Only his uncle and himself had slept apart. 

The wizard chuckled. “They would let the world believe they are carved from stone, yet they are anything but. Dwarves are the most passionate of all the races and there is nothing more important to them than family. I fear the tale you told us tonight coupled further with what you may yet speak of, has driven them to seek comfort from each other. They have faced many hardships in their long lifetimes and, from what you’ve told us, there are many yet more to come.” 

Frodo hummed, crossing his feet under the stool. “I understand. It’s a nice thing to see.”

Gandalf lowered his pipe. “That is a look I had not thought to see on another hobbit’s face. When I called upon your uncle he looked much the same.” 

“And how was that, Gandalf?” 

“Lonely.” 

Frodo said nothing. It wasn’t untrue. He had been lonely for some time. There was Sam, Merry and Pippin, and others about the Shire, yet the feeling had never seemed to leave him for long. It wasn’t until Sam plucked up the courage to ask Rosie to marry him that Frodo figured out what it was. 

It was Baggin End. 

Not truly. But it was the big empty rooms. The echo of his steps. The dust which gathered in many of the home’s lesser used spaces. It was the quarter full pantry (no need to fill it for just one) and too large a table. He’d taken to eating his meals by the fire or in the study.

It seemed that like his uncle Frodo was destined to live a bachelor's life and it didn’t take long for the rumour that Bag End was cursed to begin to spread around the Shire. They blamed it on the late Belladonna and said it was the reason she had only ever been able to have the one child. 

In truth, Frodo had never felt himself stirring towards any of the lasses. There had been some which he had taken a small interest in but nothing had truly come of any of it save for a few stolen kisses under the party tree. Still the hollow halls of Bag End had echoed for their want of tiny feet and lively parties. 

A noise from behind him had Frodo turning. Nori had carefully worked his way out from under his brothers and was looking through the other sleeping bundles. Frodo’s brows jumped when he crawled into Dwalin’s blanket with a low murmur which was answered by the warrior’s deep rumble. 

Gandalf chuckled at the young lads reaction. “As I said, dwarves are a passionate race and find their pleasures where they may. They also love so fiercely and completely that only ever one person can ever claim their heart.” 

Frodo didn’t blush at the sight as the blankets moved and there was a half cut off moan. He simply turned with a thoughtful look. “Huh. I had always wondered…” His thoughts drifted to Gimli and Legolas. Though he wasn’t sure if things had ever processed between the pair there was little doubt of the dwarf’s fierce and powerful loyalty towards his elven shield brother. The pair were hardly ever parted from each other’s sides and had stayed as such along after their quest was complete. 

“You should try to get some sleep,” the wizard was knocking out his pipe. “I will return in the morning to hear the rest of your tale.” With a squeeze of his shoulder in passing, he left the hobbit alone by the fire. 

He sighed. In truth he was so very wary and tried. It was a bit easier to bare within his younger form though he wished he could have been parted from some of his deeper pains. When he rose his back didn’t crack and his knees easily bore his weight. As he headed back to his sleeping spot beside his uncle near the end of hall, turning his eyes from the entangled pair as he passed, he found his gaze resting on the Durins again. He stopped when Thorin’s altogether too blue eyes opened and met his gaze.

The king’s arms were still tight about his nephews, fingers flexing like the hobbit might think to take them from him. Yet his expression still stayed oddly blank. 

Frodo found himself crouching at their feet, his gaze only leaving Thorin’s to take in the peaceful faces of the two younger dwarves. It was then that the thought came to him. He had been sent back, but it hadn’t been for the ring. “More precious than gold…” Thorin’s eyes tightened at the softly spoken words. He had destroyed the ring once already. It wouldn’t make any sense for him to be sent make to simply complete that task again. 

No. He had been sent back to save the dwarves. To change the fate of the line of Durin and destroy the ring before Sauron even got the chance to build up his power. The Dark Lord had thrown everything he had into the Battle of Five Armies and while he had succeeded in his goal of removing Thorin and weakening the dwarves, it had taken him another sixty years to be able to rebuild his forces again and make an attempt for all of Middle-earth.

“This time it will be different,” Frodo held his stare. “This time we’ll be ready.”

Thorin wasn’t sure what to think of the hobbit’s words the night before. He had spent most of the night turning them over in his mind. They had sounded like a promise, but he wasn’t quite sure.

His group seemed at once in better spirits for the new day and nervous for what else was to come. They kept glancing at the dark-haired hobbit as he sat near his uncle and Bombur as the pair fussed over their breakfast. But the light of the new day brought some hope and Thorin found himself saying, “Things will be different,” to the gathering and was rewarded by more than a few grins. 

Fili and Kili came in through the back door with wide grins and wild hair still wet from washing and loose about their shoulders. Their clothes looked hastily put on and likely do to the fact that neither wished to be late for breakfast and risk not having anything left to eat. Though that hardly seemed to be the case. Beorn’s stores were well stocked and whenever the food began to run a bit low on the table, a sheep or dog would appear with something else to offer. 

As everyone dug into their meals again as if they hadn’t just feasted the night before, Thorin found his eyes slipping towards their newest member and his mostly bare plate. “Is the food not to your liking, master hobbit?” He found himself asking.  

Frodo looked up, setting his fork aside. “I don’t have as much of an appetite as I used to. So please, make sure to eat your fill,” he added to the others when they looked at him with questioning stares. “Just means there is a bit more for the rest of you.” 

Slowly the Company returned to their meal. Although now there are more eyes looking at Frodo’s empty plate. Bifur went so far as to add a helping from his plate with a grunted gesture for the hobbit to eat. 

Bofur sitting across from them nods along with his cousin. “Bifur says you need to eat more. Says you’re too thin already.” He took a quick slip from his mug. “He’s right though. From what Bilbo here says hobbits are all round things. Roundest thing you got on ya is your rump.” Bilbo at Bofur’s side spit his drink out across his plate and Ori’s beside him. The youngest Ri brother yelped and quickly pulled his dish back but only succeed in dumping half of it into Dori’s lap. 

Maybe he was used to their burglar’s more proper ways. The hobbit was forever red-faced over even the smallest of teasings. So it's a nice surprise to find Frodo smiling and not the least bit offended by the other’s remark. 

It didn’t get the hobbit eating any more however. Instead as the others began to finish, he excused himself from the table and slipped out the front door. Thorin caught Bilbo watching the door close with a worried frown. 

“It’s not right,” he remarked to Bofur. “I guess with all the excitement I didn’t notice it but now that you mention it he is awfully thin and it’s making him look older than he is.”

Kili leaned his elbows on the table. “Why, how old do you think mister Frodo is?” 

Biblo crossed his own arms, leaning back. “If he’s much more than a year over his majority I’ll eat Bofur’s hat.”

“Hey!” said hat’s owner cried but the rest of the table looked stunned. 

“I think you might be right, laddie.” Balin spoke up. “Though if what he’s told us is true then he’s much older in spirit.” Thorin found himself nodding. 

“Regardless!” Kili jumped from the table, pulling at his brother’s arm. “Even if he was as old and grumpy as uncle,” Thorin scowled. “He should still have a little fun.” The pair started towards the door. 

“Where are you off to?” He asked after them.

They shared a grin. “Swimming!” 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short piece of chapter 5. It's been sitting half-finished for a while so I thought I'd post it, for no other reason than in case I never continue this story I have at least shared everything I had written with you.

 

Hobbits do not swim. They may enjoy a nice long soak in a deep tub from time to time but they do not swim. For all it mattered they might as well been made from rocks what good it did them. 

Bilbo felt a bit sorry for Frodo. He knew how insistent the brother’s could be and had to admit he was happy it wasn’t him they were pulling, pushing and poking towards the water’s edge. Frodo for his part didn’t look the least bit bothered. 

It turned out the brothers had found a small lake when they went off in the morning to clean up. It was sun warmed and clear. Really it did look quite inviting but Bilbo had taken the time the night before to clean himself up and had washed a few things to be dried in the sun before breakfast. 

Many of the others had not bathed as such and still smelt of burning pine needles and goblin piss; Dwalin’s words, not his own. So it didn’t come as too big a surprise to find nearly the entire Company spread out along its shore. 

Frodo for his part found that the pair reminded him a lot of Merry and Pippin. While one had always been more serious, the other had been more childish. However both enjoyed causing a bit of trouble and wouldn’t budge from their games once they had set their eyes on a target. He knew without doubt that the pair wouldn’t leave him alone till he got into the water. 

He hasn’t been keen on the idea at first but figured the distraction would stop him from worrying about where Gandalf had gotten himself to. He had promised to be back first thing and yet it was nearly mid-morning and there was no sign of him or their host.

“Alright!” He pushed them both back. “No need to push. I never said I wouldn’t and I’d rather not do so in my clothes if you’ll just give me a moment. Unlike the rest of you I only have what’s on my back.” 

The brothers moved back at that. “We hadn’t thought of that,” Fili frowned. “We’ll have to find you a few things then before we leave.” Kili nodded at his side. 

“You’re probably right. It seems I’m far too used to traveling with nothing. It would have likely slipped my mind completely till the last second.” He slipped off his suspenders and started on the buttons on his shoulder. 

Bilbo jumped slightly when Thorin came to a stop beside where he sat in the grass. His arms were crossed as he looked over the others, his eyes finding Frodo. “Are you sure he’s related to you?” 

Bilbo frowned at his question. “And what do you mean by that?” 

Thorin gestured toward the water. His nephews were shedding the rest of their clothes in their usual haste as the young hobbit took his time stripping down and wasn’t even red in the face from the others open nudity. Thorin did his best to keep his eyes from roaming the too pale skin but chuckled deeply when Frodo started to fold his shift neatly before working on his pants. “Never mind,” he gave the burglar a look which had the hobbit frowning even if he did look proud at the other’s manners. 

“What happened?” Kili’s shocked question drew the attention of more than a few of the other bathers. He was pointing at Frodo’s chest and when the young hobbit turned slightly Thorin was able to make out the deep scar which had caught Kili’s attention. It looked like a very deep stab wound which hadn’t been treated properly. It wasn’t the only one. There were others marks marring the hobbit’s smooth skin. Frodo ran in fingers over them with interest, as if they were both new and familiar to him. 

Thorin was at least pleased to see that the hobbit wasn’t truly as thin as they had feared, simply lean. He didn’t want anyone within their group to be going without. If Frodo’s appetite didn’t return by the evening then something would likely have to be done about it. Till then he had no problems leaving the hobbit to his peace. 

“It seems you’ve had an adventure of your own, my boy.” They turned to find that the wizard had returned to them. 

“You could say that, Gandalf.” Frodo sighed as he reached down for his shirt, intending to redress. 

“None of that, lad. Your story can wait till you are finished. I believe everyone could use a nice long bath after recent events. What do you think?” Frodo just gave the old man a small smile and continued to undress. 

Frodo wasn’t the first hobbit Thorin had seen nude. He’d caught a few glimpses of Bilbo during their travels. Their fussy hobbit was always the quickest in and out of the waters, his face burning red all the while. The king knew their nudity bothered him. The hobbit likely found their hairy bodies as odd as they found his smooth one. 

Which was why Thorin’s interest in the darker haired hobbit was rather bothersome and with a scowl he turned to go back inside. He was happy that the others were too busy to notice his slight limp. He needed to sit back down or his body was going to start making the decisions for him. 

A hand on his elbow really had him jumping. “Here, let me help you.” Bilbo wasn’t smiling and looked more than ready for Thorin to rebuff his assistance. However, regardless of all the doubt he had held towards the halfling, Bilbo had more than earned his place within his Company. 

“Thank you,” He might have smiled at Bilbo’s shocked eyes had his ribs not twinged and the fussy hobbit not huffed, pulling him inside and towards a much too big chair in the corner. 

“You should let Oin take another look at those,” he gestured vaguely to Thorin’s chest. “And you should be resting.” He ended with his hands resting on his hips. “We haven’t come all this way for you to drop dead on us now.”

“I assure you, that is not likely to happen.” 

“Still,” Bilbo continued. “The less you rest the longer it’s going to take till you’re well enough to travel.” Thorin simply stared and Bilbo began to fidget under his gaze. “Right, I’ll just-”

“I had meant to apologize.” The hobbit carefully turned back and Thorin shifted against the back of the chair, trying to ease the pain flaring in his sides. “The things I have said. I have treated you unfairly and misjudged you. Even so you have saved not only myself, but my kin with your actions. Thank you.”

Bilbo’s ears were faintly pink. “I- um, well. I wasn’t about to just watch and I mean. Yes, you’re right too- What you said before. I do miss my armchair and my books. I do miss my  _ home _ . Which is something none of you have and I’ve grown quite fond of all of you. And if missing my home gets you back your, then I’m okay with that.” 

Thorin was at a slight loss of words. Such simple sentiment, yet Bilbo likely had no idea how much it meant. Thorin wondered what their lives might have been like had they met more like Bilbo with even half his heart. 

At the king’s continued silence, Bilbo had continued on though although Thorin had missed most of it. “-not to mention Frodo helped as well.”

“What do you think of our other hobbit?” Thorin cut in. 

Bilbo frowned as he thought. “I think he’s been through a lot. When I look at him…” He shrugged. “He kind of reminds me of you.” When the dwarf frowned, Bilbo just waved a hand at him. “You both walk around like the whole weight of Middle-earth rests on your shoulders.” 

“He’s quite right, you know.” Gandalf emerged from the bedroom he had been given in the back. “However while Thorin feels the weight of his people, I fear for young Frodo it might be as you say.” 

They didn’t get a chance to question the wizard anymore on that as members of the Company began filing in. Thorin was not surprised when Dwalin, Balin and Dori entered first. As a few of the oldest it the group they were not often up to the play which tended to happen more between the others. 


	6. Chapter 6

When even Fili and Kili have returned, with no signs of their newest hobbit, Thorin frowned. When the doors to the kitchen opened and the Company settled down for lunch, Thorin shared a look with Bilbo before going in search of their missing hobbit.

It didn’t take Thorin long to find him. Frodo was sitting on a low log bench amongst the many blooms of Beorn’s garden. Even a dwarf could appreciate the natural beauty of so many blooms. The air was so rich with their fragrance that it tasted sweet on the back of his tongue. 

Frodo turned, watching as the dwarf approached. When Thorin neared he moved down the bench. Taking the invitation Thorin sat. 

They said nothing. The wind blew through the flowers, making the blooms bob and dance. Fat bumblebees wavered about. Thorin was so caught up watching one attempt to land on a swaying bloom that he startled just a little at the hobbit’s voice.

“Bilbo used to talk about the things he would do differently.” Frodo turned his eyes to the king. “If he could do it all over again.” Thorin met his gaze, but Frodo’s green eyes were drifting out towards the garden. “He’d say things like, if given the chance, he’d have worn a different pair of pants or pack more pipeweed. The like. Never anything huge. I had wondered why. Now, I think I understand.”

Thorin frowned. “How so?”

Frodo smiled tightly as he continued to watch the bees. “Uncle, more or less, ignored the world once he had given me the ring. I know now that it had a lot to do with the ring itself,” his hand drifted towards his neck. “As well as his age. But I think another part of it had to do with the weight of it.”

Two yellow birds raced passed, twisting and turning around one another as the went. “There is so much I can change. There are  _ so many lives _ I can save, change or end by simply knowing what I do. Let alone acting on any of it.”

“I can understand how that would weigh on a person,” Thorin agreed in a low rumble. 

The hobbit dug his toes in the earth. “I had wondered why Sauron had takened such an interest in Erebor. Why come after twelve dwarves and an exiled king with such a massive force?” He noticed Thorin twitch and gave him a wary half-smile. “You have to understand, that battle was later called Battle of Five Armies for a reason.”

When Frodo failed to continue, he asked simply. “Why?”

“It was the mountain itself. Not the riches, and not even really the dwarves. Just the mountain.” He glanced to the king but upon seeing his furrowed brows Frodo explained. “It’s the placement of the mountain. It was the only thing standing between Middle Earth and Sauron’s northern forces. Reducing the dwarves and gaining hold of the riches within would have only served to strengthen his forces, but the real goal was to take the mountain for himself. His second attempt nearly succeeded.”

“I see.”

The hobbit turned. “Do you? This is a world which still believes Sauron is  _ gone _ .” He cast and arm out. ”They have no idea he’s alive! Let alone hiding in the north building an army to which we haven’t seen in ages and to which only the elves still remember. He sends his dark agents about the world like game pieces and you have no idea how many are already among us.”

Seeing Thorin’s sudden indignation as he rised to loom over the sitting hobbit Frodo quickly cuts in. “I didn’t mean the company!” 

Thorin closed his mouth slowly. “Then who?”

He shook his head, sending his black curls into his eyes. “No one here. But in nearly every major settlement. And yes, even within the dwarves.” 

“But not hobbits?” Thorin counters through clenched teeth.

In answer the hobbit shrugged. “We are often overlooked.” Was all he said.

“Frodo. Thorin.” Gandalf greeted as he rounded a bend behind a cluster of towering shrubs. Behind him Beorn followed looking grim. “I believe we have much to discuss.” 

* * *

The others had long since finished lunch by the time they returned to the cabin. Thorin found he had little appetite anyways as he joined the rest of the Company at the shapeshifter’s long table. Frodo took the last empty seat to his right.

It was Beorn who started things off. “I looked for myself.” He cast his gaze slowly over those at the table. “I wanted to see if your tales were true. There were indeed orcs. Those I found are no longer a threat.” He grinned, all teeth and predatory satisfaction. Thorin had no doubt that those orcs were indeed, no longer an issue.

Gandalf cleared his throat. “Yes, well, I believe we are eager to hear Frodo continue his tale.”

Thorin felt it safe to say, they were not looking forward to hearing anymore. The more the hobbit spoke, the harder it was becoming for Thorin to justify continuing. He looked to his sister-sons. They were side by side further down the table looking somber. Thorin longed for their carefree smiles, their youthful warrior boasts and silly jokes. 

He was lucky he had died, he thought, because his sister would have surely killed him had he lived while they had not. 

Frodo looked lost for a moment as he tried to think back to where he had left off. “Thranduil had sent an army to the men at Dale. They asked for recompense from the dwarves, in order to rebuild what was lost when the dragon attacked. Thranduil wanted something as well, jewels, I believe, from his late wife which had been taken.” He frowned in thought. “Uncle hadn’t known that. Lord Elrond told me that after… Well after everything.”

“What happened then?” Kili prompted.

“Did the leaf-eaters attack us like cowardly dogs?” This from Dwalin grim-faced against a wooden pillar at Frodo’s back. 

He only nodded saddly. “When Thorin denied them, both men and elves marched on Erebor. Uncle tried, using the Arkenstone, to stop them but then Dain’s army arrived. They rode down onto Thranduil and the men of Laketown.” Muttering up and down the table, Frodo looked about. “Than the orcs came.” 

He recounted what he could remember. Of the Gundabad orcs led by Azog and the goblins of the Misty Mountains. While his uncle’s book had some mention of what had happened during the battle, it had all been from his perspective. What he told them now he had read of later in the library in Rivendell.

The Company was silent for a moment before again Kili broke the silence. “How?”

He knew what Kili was asking, though he was hesitant to tell him. Frodo looked to the younger dwarf, before turning to Thorin who inclined his head. “Bolg. You and your brother got separated when you were drawn into a trap.” He answered solemnly. 

Fili put an arm about his brother before turning to the hobbit. His face was serious and grim. “And me, Mister Frodo?”

“Azog. You managed to warn Thorin and Uncle about the trap, but it was already too late. Uncle was knocked unconscious shortly after and only woke after the battle.” He looked to his uncle. “The found Thorin, but there was no saving him.” 

The hard scrape of a chair on the floor turned heads to Thorin. The king in exile said nothing as he left the room. 

“What about the rest of us?” Ori looked up from his notebook. He wrung his hands nervously. “Do you know what happened after? You said you met Gloin. Did you see anyone else?” 

At Frodo’s hesitation, the wizard stood. “I think a little fresh air will do us well. Come, young Mister Baggins.”

Emotionally drained, Frodo followed the familiar request without protest. He felt eyes on his back but he made no effort to meet any of their gazes. Through the green front door and back out into the garden, he followed the tall grey shape as they moved towards the back of the house, around the barn and towards the lake. 

Taking his pipe from his pocket, Gandalf packed and lit it. “Hmm,” he puffed a few small clouds, examining a smooth bolder with casual interest before sweeping back his robes to take a seat. With a contented sigh, the wizard looked out at the water.

Frodo frowned at the taller being’s ease. Well used to the wizard’s way, he waited. There was a reason Gandalf brought him away from the others. There was something he wanted to ask, however Gandalf had this terrible habit of leaving one in silence long enough till someone else was forced to break it. It was an easy way to gather information or to simply read the mood of the room.

Not that Frodo didn’t enjoy watching the wizard’s growing impatience as his sideway glances increased in frequency. The hobbit simply found a point across the lake and lost himself in thought. Or lack of thought. He honestly didn’t want to think of much of anything.

At the edges of his tired mind and ring whispered sweetly. 

“What is it you wish to do?”

“Gandalf?”

“You’ve been returned here for a reason. What is it you would have us do?” The wizard turned, eyes sharp. He had gone from playful, calm wizard to something  _ other _ . It might have goaded a lesser hobbit to shuffle his feet like a misbehaving faunt, but Frodo had known this wizard all his life, would do so again in this second life. He was not intimidated.

With a long-suffering sigh, Frodo looked back at the water. “I don’t know.” 

It was the truth. He didn’t know. It wasn’t as if he had been told why he had been sent back to this time and in that place. It was to change things - there couldn’t be any other reason - but as to what and how, he wasn’t sure.

“We will have to do something about that.” The wizard gestured pointedly at Frodo’s clenched fist around the chain and ring which had fallen from inside his shirt. He quickly let his hand drop.

“We will, but we have time yet.”

Gandalf's eye narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“It hasn’t awoken. He’s not strong enough yet to call it back to him.” There was no need to say who He was.

“It is well known that that ring has a mind of it’s own,” the wizard started, rising to his feet.  As he moved to continue Frodo felt his frustration rise. 

“You think I don’t know? I was happy till  _ you  _ dropped this ring at my feed and sent me across Middle Earth to destroy it! So you have no right to lecture me.” He hated that his eyes began to swell with tears at the rise of emotions. It was supposed to be over. “I know it all too well...”

His wizard would have murmured a soft, “Oh, Frodo” in apology before pulling him into a tight hug. This Gandalf simply waited, tight-lipped and silent. He missed his wizard. The one who knew him, had seen him grown, with kind eyes and fireworks.

“I’m going now,” he said no more as he left Gandalf by the lake. He passed by Nori with his pointed hair between the shadow of two trees but said nothing. Had he not learned to watch the shadows he would not have seen the dwarven spy. Even so, Frodo’s eyes were down and he followed his feet simply  _ away _ .


	7. Chapter 7

Away turned out to be the bench he had shared with Thorin earlier that day. The bees had moved on, leaving only the singing of birds who swooped and dived. He longed for such freedom. Both of his experiences flying so far had been anything but. Maybe in another life, should he be given a chance, he might wish to try.

“You need to eat something.”

He gave his uncle a small, lopsided grin. “I find I don’t have much of an appetite.”

The other hobbit huffed, rubbing at his nose as he took a half pace away before thinking better of it. Instead, he sat down on the other end of the bench. “I left something behind,” Bilbo started, folding his hands together, his knee bouncing. “When I left the Shire. What was it?”

At this Frodo did smile, just a little. “A handkerchief,” and handed him one from his own pocket. 

Bilbo blinked, leg stilling, and took the offered piece of cloth. A well worn green. A bit faded from washing and age but the edges were neat with the initials B.B. cleanly done in yellow thread in one corner. “It’s one of my handkerchiefs,” he said in awe. “You really are telling the truth then.” He looked up. “You really are from the future.”

“I thought that much was obvious.” 

“Well I mean yes, no- Yes, it is but I just didn’t want to believe you. You know?” Bilbo frowned. “You have to understand, these dwarves, they're my friends. The idea that some might…” He shook his head. “Never mind that. You’re here now and things will be different.”

Bilbo had said it in such an assured, familiar way that Frodo smiled seeing the hint of his uncle. Even if this hobbit might not know him, it was still something to hold onto. 

“Now then,” Bilbo jumped up from the bench, smoothing his hands over his trousers. “You’re going to come back with me and we’re going to see if the dwarves left us any supper. Come on.”

Still grinning, Frodo followed.

* * *

 

While the dwarves had managed to clear the entire table of supper, there were goodies left in the kitchen just perfect for a pair of hungry hobbits. They were even so kind as to bring out a pot of tea, much to his uncle’s delight. 

The dwarves were determined to lighten the dark mood which had been hanging over them for most of the day. There were no more questions and as the sun lowered and the fires lite, Bofur played a carefree tune on his pipes. 

Dwalin and Bifur, who Frodo had yet to speak with, shouldered their way into the main hall to cheers. Under their arms were casks of ale and wines. Fili and Kili claimed bragging rights to their discovery, coming in behind the larger dwarves with mugs in hand, enough for each.

Like the night before, both their host and wizard were missing. 

While Bilbo shied away from the offered ale saying he was quite happy with his tea, thank you very much. Frodo had no such reservations. In fact, a drink was just what he needed.

“That’s the spirit, Mister Frodo!” Kili cheered with a grin and slap to the back which nearly sent him off his chair. 

It wasn’t long into the second cask when Bofur broke into versus amongst their clapping with a vulgar tale with a dwarf and his too large of hammer. Frodo laughed to near tears. He nearly spit out his drink at his uncle's red-faced sputtering when Bofur’s hung dwarf had an interesting encounter with a tree. 

“There are young ones present!” Bilbo sent a pointed look to the other hobbit in the room before eyeing the princes.

Frodo just laughed and waved his half empty cup. “Don’t give me that look! I’m not some blushing tween, I’ll have you know. I might look young but we’re nearly the same age, you old hobbit.” He tilted his cup back, finishing his drink with a grin. “Besides, I saved the whole a Middle-earth once!” He winked.

Somehow Bilbo managed to blush even darker as he jumped to his feet. “There is no way you’re a Baggins! You must be a Took.” With that, he left the room to a chorus of laughter from the rest of their party. 

Suddenly Frodo found himself pressed between Fili and Kili, the pair with matching grins. “So, Mister Frodo,” Fili nudged him.

“How did the ladies of Middle-earth thank you for saving them?” Kili finished. 

Despite his bravado and the drink warming his blood, Frodo blushed. 

“Ah, you can’t hold back on us now, Mister Frodo!” This from Nori with a sharp grin. “Details, if you please.”

But there were no details. Frodo had just been teasing. After his time in Rivendell’s healing house and the subsequent travelling back to the Shire, there hadn’t been anyone. He had returned home to an empty smial with its dust covered halls. The hobbits of the Shire didn’t know what had happened. They didn’t understand. Their small group had just returned with big heads and stories to tell.

Sam had Rosie, the barmaid. After facing down orcs and goblins, giant spiders and ring wraiths, asking a lady to court seemed simple. The fact that she was still unwed upon their return seemed like a sign from Yavanna.

Merry and Pippin had each other. They were always a pair. They had returned to their large families amongst cheers. They had plans to join the rangers. They were thinking of courting but wanted more adventures under their belts before they settled down with wives of their own.

Frodo had no one. His uncle had stayed in Rivendell, too frail now to travel and he liked the peace there within the hidden valley. The other hobbits stayed clear of him. They claimed he caught the Baggin’s madness too. Too thin, too pale. Not a proper hobbit at all. 

Thorin had noticed the shift when his sister-sons had leaned in with their teasing. The joyful light in the hobbit’s gaze dimmed. He stood, drawing everyone’s eye. “It’s late. I believe Bilbo had the right idea. Let us turn in before our host decides to see us out.” He was happy to see the younger hobbit make his escape into the kitchen. 

The Company disbanding towards their sleeping rolls for the night. Thorin was, in truth, grateful to be laying down. His ribs would need a few more days to settle before he’d be any good on a pony, let alone his sword. Oh, he could fight if need be, but for his end to come for lack of rest would be a disgrace to his ancestors. 

He awoke to lower voices speaking urgently. Kili was missing from his side although Fili still slept, arm over his eyes on his left. Thorin was stiff from sleep. His ribs protesting even the slightest movement. It took him a moment to get to his feet and head towards the voices.

“Is his stuff gone?” Kili asked as Thorin entered.

Bilbo tabbed his foot with a huff. “What stuff? He has nothing save what’s on his back!”

“What’s all this?” Thorin interrupted. Bilbo, Kili and Balin turned with mixed expressions.

“Seems we’re short a hobbit,” Balin answered. “Didn’t turn in last night.” 

Thorin frowned. “You’re sure?” He directed the question at their Burglar. 

“Of course I’m sure! I went to bed before him and when I woke up this morning to help with breakfast it was clear that his bed hadn’t been slept in.”

“We’ve looked through the house, Uncle. I also checked the wash shed and barn. He’s not here.”

Thorin moved closer to the unlit fire and the chairs still surrounding it from the night before. He braced his hands on the back of on, trying not to let on how much his side still pained him. “I cannot believe he has run off.”

“Nor I,” Balin nodded, running a hand down his white beard. 

Bilbo looked between the two older dwarves. “We were told not to leave at night! What his something happened?”

“Uncle?” Kili looked increasingly concerned. 

At this point, the sun was rising high enough that the animals within the barn were waking and beginning to make their way into the kitchen. Nori and Dwalin entered next and Thorin could hear others voices of the company rising as well. 

“With the sun rising we can take a better look around the grounds. It’s possible he ventured outside last night and got himself lost or injured. Although I would not be surprised if he returns with the wizard.”

* * *

Frodo had forgotten what it was like to disappear. His furred feet slowly swung below the branch he was laying on. Hands behind his head he had watched the sky slowly lighten. It had been the first time since he had arrived in this time that he had been able to just think. Sure at first his thoughts were muddled from all the drinks, but it had slowly cleared and in a strange way it had helped to focus his thoughts.

He was here to change things. There was no other reason for him to be here other than to change history. So where should he start? 

What he wanted to do was save the dwarves. Not just Bilbo’s dwarves or the Lonely Mountain, but the entire race. It was clear before the start of the Ring War that the dwarves were dying. The elves, long lived as they are, were slow to breed and had their numbers reduced long ago fighting against Sauron. While others of their kind simply chose to leave Middle Earth.

But the dwarves had been thriving in their mountain kingdoms and would have continued to do so if not for Smaug.

It was more than just the dragon, however. Frodo had spoken often with Lord Elrond during the years after, while his uncle had been too weak to return to the Shire and himself not eager to face the jeers and whispered rumours of his kin. The library had become a haven and Frodo’s mind had fixed on his uncle's stories to stay away from his own.

The trouble had truly started the moment Arkenstone was unearthed.

Someone walked through the thick hedges below the tree with a muttered dwarven curse. Leaning over the branch, Frodo was surprised to see a dark haired head below.

“Thorin?”

The King in Exile looked up and sighed before shaking his head. Without a word, he pushed his way through into a clearing before sinking down into the grass with a groan. 

Frodo landed softly on the grass beside him. “You should be resting.”

“And you should have stayed in your bed last night instead of forcing us to spend all morning looking for you. Most of the company is convinced you’ve run off.” 

Frodo watched the dwarf. “But not you.” Thorin didn’t say anything to that, simply closed his eyes to lean back against the tree. Frodo frowned before settling down beside him. “I am sorry that I caused everyone to worry. Just…”

“You do not need to explain your to me, Master hobbit. I do not envy your task any more than I do mine. It has become… harder to forward now, knowing what is to come.” 

Frodo was already shaking his head even before Thorin had finished. “That’s just it. It’s all going to change. Just from what I’ve already told you it will be different. I’m going to do everything I can to make sure you and your nephews come out of this alive, but I can’t promise anything. Maybe we’ll all die this time around? I have no idea and I know Gandalf is waiting for me to tell him what I plan to do. Then he’ll go and do the opposite because he’s a wizard and not the one I grew up with and-” He sniffled, suddenly looking startled by his own tears. “Oh,” Frodo shook his head while not looking to see the king's reaction. “Sorry, just-”

Thorin rose to his feet. “You should rest,” he said not unkind. “The others will be worried. The wizards questions can wait. We’ll be here for some days yet.” With that, he left leaving Frodo once again alone with his thoughts.

Frodo rubbed his shoulder and became aware of the whispers on his mind. They were gentle like a caress as if reminding him that even without those he loved, he still had the ring. 

Gandalf would ask him how they should proceed. Honestly, he'd ask for Gandalf to send for the eagles again if he honestly thought the wizard would. Going into Mirkwood was ridiculous. It wasn’t the best course of action before when they had no idea the evils which had taken hold of it before, but now… But if they didn’t go and meet with Lord Thranduil, despite how badly it had gone for them, then would to elves still march on Erebor and fight alongside the men of Lake-town? Without the elven army, there would have been little change against the Orcs when they came. They would need all the armies.

His head hurt and Thorin was right, he needed some to sleep. At least for a little while. Finishing a nice spot on the soft grass, he laid down and closed his eyes.

* * *

 

It was after lunch when Frodo returned to Beorn's house. Thorin had informed the others that he had been found and had asked them to leave him alone, which was very kind of him. It didn’t stop him from feeling like a wayward fauntling, however, when he returned to the disquiet looks of one inpatient wizard. 

“Frodo, you cannot be so reckless! You were told to keep indoors at night. There are things in these woods which would be happy to have you.” When the hobbit only sighed and continued to the dining table where a plate lay covered for him, it seemed to anger him. “Frodo-”

The hobbit stopped. “No, Gandalf.” The others stilled as the room fell unnaturally silent. Frodo rested his left hand on the tables, eyes on the shortened digit. He spread his fingers a bit. “I know that the ring must be destroyed, but it will have to wait. It’s too useful,” Already the room was starting to darken about the wizard. “And we’ll need it if we’re going to save Erebor.” 

“Frodo Baggins! Many beings have sought to use that ring, and all have been used BY it and its master. You have no idea-”

“No!” Frodo turned. “It’s you who has no idea, Gandalf. Uncle used the ring during this whole quest before, and you keep forgetting I was the bearer of the ring after him! It’s not fully awakened yet. Sauron doesn’t have the strength yet and won't for years to come yet. But right now there is an army building to march on the mountain. We know where the door is, but even then there is a dragon, very much alive, sleeping inside. I don’t have some magical answer from the future which will fix all this!” The room had lightened as Frodo took a breath. “I might be a Baggins, but I’m still only one hobbit.” 

There was a small cough before Biblo joined him at his side. “Two. There are two hobbits.” 

“Oh aye, and a fair number of dwarves too,” Bofur cast him a wink. The others were nodding, looking to each other. A few remained silent. Gloin, Oin and Dwalin stood furthest back from the rest. They turned their eyes towards their king and Frodo knew they would only follow where their king went. Fili and Kili too, having come in part way through were watching their uncle's reaction.

Gandalf looked oddly pleased by the show of support. Which gave Frodo the impression that he had orchestrated the whole things just to help rally them all together. 

Thorin stepped forward, every inch a king, with his sharp blue eyes fixed on him. “What is it you wish for us to do?” 


End file.
